The Definitive
by LastxManxStanding
Summary: They say eyes are the windows to ones' soul. So what exactly does Dean see every time he sees his reflection?


**Disclaimer;**

I do not, and will never own any characters and/or cars and/or plots from the hit TV Series Supernatural. Alas! I do indeed 'own' (in a matter of speaking) this Fan Fiction. No stealing, yo!**  
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**Topic;**

Supernatural

**Main Characters;**

Dean, Sam, (mentions of) John and the Metallicar.

**Pairings;**

None. (For the time being. But no Wincent, I promise.)

**Rating;**

T, for Teen for the time being.

**Genre;**

Angst / Drama / Supernatural / Horror / Hurt&Comfort / Family

**Note;**

This chapter contains the intake (in excessive amounts) of alcohol and swearing.

**Plot;**

They say eyes are the windows to ones' soul. So what exactly does Dean see every time he sees his reflection? What hidden skeletons does his closet hide? What would happen if one day, his solid walls finally started to fall? Would Sam be strong enough to pick up the pieces, or will Dean forever be there to wallow in deep depression filled with guilt, self pity and lies.

**-**

**Wanted;**

Beta, please. I try, but sometimes my grammar isn't exactly the easiest to understand. And it's always good to have a second view. Please message me for more information.

Thanks.

**-**

**The Definitive**

**xLemonPepperx**

**-**

_But I'll Never Cry_

_Take Away My Eyes_

_I'd Rather Be Blind_

_Sometimes I Drink More Than I Need_

_I May Be Lonely  
But I'm Never Alone_

_**I Never Cry - Alice Cooper**_

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**Chapter One**

I Never Cry

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It was times like this that he'd subconsciously reflect on the latest hunts, his life, his family (or rather lack of family) and the way he was, as a person. The liquid stilled in the glass as hazel green eyes watched the murky substance, head lazily held up by upturned hands, elbows on the small round table. Ears mute to all the outside noise, eyes blind to the array of colours and moving smudges as people conversed and moved around the Twenty- Eight year old.

"Ya all good there, son? No passin' out in this bar, 'kay. Call ya a cab if ya need." Glazed eyes raised slowly, dizzy as they attempted to focus on the plump man in front of him. Arms crossed lightly over his chest with a small towel hanging off his forearm. A casual looking man, although he had a air of intimidation surrounding him, no exactly the type of person you would want to intentionally start a brawl with. Upon hearing no response the man questioned; "Ya there, son?"

Snapping back into the sane corner of his mind through the haze as a plump hand was waved in front of his face, Dean just gently nodded his head, "Yea, I'm alright. I'll call my brother to pick me up." His words came out somewhat slurred, but still audible. His hand reached inside his jeans to retrieve his cell phone which he held up to show the bartender that he was sober enough to be telling the truth. Said bartender just nodded his head and walked back across the bar to his stall where a few people had stood while waiting for their next round of the night.

It was a rare chance when the great hunter, Dean Winchester got as drunk as he was at that exact moment. The day had started off normally. A simple salt and burn had taken place earlier that day. The body had been burred (or rather dumped) in the outskirts of the small town, so there was no desire to complete the mission in the dead of the night since they were basically in the middle of nowhere when they dug up the remains and completed the usual ritual that the brothers had completed multiple times in their lives. After letting the fire burn down they had retreated back to the small motel they had been staying at for the past few days while researching the case. Dean, concluding that they were getting low in cash decided that they ought to go down to the bar and challenge some people to a game of pool. Sam had responded with a shake of his head at his older brothers way of earning money, and declined. Excusing himself by saying that he'd just stay at home and do some research and look through their Dads journal, catch up on a bit of sleep and relaxing, especially since the younger of the two was supporting an impressive bruise on his stomach caused by the poltergeist.

So in conclusion, as the time clicked past the first hour of the next day, Dean sat by himself at one of the many tables, supporting nearly two hundred dollars in cash and contemplating weather or not to shot down the glass of bile alcohol that he had been eyeing for the past ten minutes. Swallowing back the slight queasy feeling that spun his stomach in circles, he picked up the glass and finished the drink in a single gulp. No need to let alcohol go to waste. Deans' body temperature was rising from the effects from the drink as he stood up, almost loosing his footing as he grabbed onto the side of the table. Feeling the bartenders eyes on him, he fished into his pocket and placed a 20 dollar note on the table, a tip and also pay for the last drink. A nauseated feeling crept up on the adult as he slowly, gripping onto any nearby tables, walked out of the stuffy bar.

The fresh air felt good on his heated skin as he continued down the road, ignoring every and all people that he passed, head down as his face was hidden by a shadow. A few blocks down and he realized that his legs were starting to feel like jelly, almost ready to collapse from underneath him. Hands skimmed the wall of an old abandoned building as his body lazily followed suit, back against said wall as he sat down, knees pulled up to his chest with his arms casually folded against them with his forehead resting on his forearms. Hazel- green eyes hidden behind closed lids as his world spun, while he stayed in that one position.

He could have been sitting there for three hours, three minutes, or three seconds. Time seemed to pass the adult by like a blur. Thoughts jumbled like an overflowing jug. So many things to ponder, so little time to drown in self pity. Normally his Hunter Instincts wouldn't allow Dean to pass over to drunk and stupid, but letting his guard down while he was casually accepting shots while chatting to a certain blonde haired beauty who had mysteriously vanished half way though the night, 'caused him to welcome to feeling that he rarely ever obtained. His younger by four years brother had been drunk multiple times over the years of them hunting together. Dean had always (well, almost always) paced himself, never allowed himself to become stupid. He had a mission; he had to look after his brother. 'Take care of Sam, Dean,' his father had told him countless times while growing up. And now the command was drilled constantly into his mind. Subconiously tonight though, he knew that Sam at was at the motel. Sleeping.

Sam had texted him multiple times during the night, just saying that everything was okay. Sam knew that his older brother cared for him, thus knowing that he should allow Dean to calm down and relax once in awhile he had sent hourly texts (until a few hours ago when he commented on the fact that he was off to bed) just to reassure Deans' over protective mind. Hand fumbled with the phone as the main screen lit up, causing Dean to blink a few times as his lagged body overcame the shock that emitted from the bright light. Subconsciously he skimmed through the contacts in his phone, not many, but enough that if he needed help during a job there was always someone who specializes in whatever Supernatural being they were hunting, just a quick phone call away.

An image of Sam asleep with straws poking out of his nose, and a giant 'L' drawn on his forehead with vivid matched the contact name as he pressed the 'Ok' button to get the other options. It was exactly six past two in the morning, maybe he was drunk dialling, or maybe he just wanted a lift home, rather than allowing his almost insomniac brother to continue the much needed rest, and just call himself a taxi. But before the small portion of sober part of his brain could comphrend what was happening, the ringing tone echoed through his ear.

_Ring ring. _

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_Ring ring._

_"H'llo?"_

He had almost hung up after the last ring, not wanting to be welcomed with the automatic voice of his brothers answer phone when the murky voice echoed down the line. By the sound of confusion, Dean suspected that Sam hadn't checked who was calling him before answering.

"_Hello, who is this?"_

Clearing his throat as he recognized the more alert, and unwelcome tone his brothers voice portrayed into Deans ear he responded as clear as he could, although it just came out with a slur, and what could only be described as a hiccup in-between the words,

"Dean 'ere."

"Where are you? I'll come pick you up." The younger brother taking charge. Dean heard a rustling sound in the background as he guessed was Sam jumping out of bed and getting changed into suitable clothes to drive out into the dead of the night to pick up his blatantly wasted older brother.

He laughed drunk into the phone, striating his neck to look at the small sign hanging off the building his back was resting against. "'bout a b'ock down past the bar," he slurred in response, "O'tside old buildin'; 'mpoerin' Worksh'p."

Sam told, or rather ordered him to stay exactly where he was, which easy responded with a sharp laugh. As if he actually _could_ move. The motel was about ten minute drive from where he was, and during that time Deans mind was blank, although small thoughts pushed at the sides. All his life he'd kept his emotions bottled up. Not having his own say. Following his father's orders without question or complaint. It was the way he was raised. Since his mothers' death when he was four, all the joy he had felt while living at home with his mother and father, a happily married couple who adored time with their two children. Going down to the park and playing on the swings, Christmas when it was the most exciting time of the year when Santa would magically appear after sliding down the chimney and leave piles of neatly wrapped presents, or even simple things like sitting at the dinner table and laughing, chatting, being _normal._

Although he would never admit it to Sam, he sometimes wished he had a normal life. True, that meant that sometimes people would be get by Supernatural beings, but if he didn't have all the pressure on his shoulders, if he could just settle down in a small quiet town, live his own life and be in own man. Not drag his baby brother around by the collar, Jesus, if they had a normal life Jessica, Sams girlfriend would still be alive. Self pity was something he hated. Doing the jobs he did, he say plenty of it- people blaming themselves if a loved one died, unable to stop what was destined to happen. People wallowing in grief for years on end until it finally drives them insane.

Dean kept himself busy with his work, that was his secret to how he was still sane. The loud roar of his baby dragged his hazy mind from their thoughts which a shrink would classify as depression. The sleek black body of his number one love reflected the lamp which hung over head. His Chevy Impala, if he died, at least he would have something left behind, his only possession. She held so many memories of their travels. The multiple times she had been damaged, abused and yet she still lived. The only item who has ever seen the soul of Dean Winchester.

Sam jumped out of the car, and in a blink of an eye he had his hands firmly placed on Deans shoulders, face right next to Deans own as he gently tugged on his older brothers shoulders, alarmed slightly to see the fatal position that his brother had inhabited. Sam was somewhat expecting a phone call from Dean to pick him up, that was the main reason why he had kept his cell phone on all night. Although he was surprised to hear the total drunken slur in his idols voice. It was rare when Dean got as drunk as he seemed at his very moment. Trying to think back, Sam was unable to recall the last time he'd seen Dean so beaten down, so soulless.

"You alright there, Dean? You with me?"

"Sammy? Man, I feel like shit," he gritted through his teeth, standing up slowly with the help of Sams' hands to keep him steady as his back lightly scrapped against the wall. "Let's just get going."

Sam wasn't going to argue with Dean's request as he slowly guided his older brother over to the Impala, juggling his brother with one arm wrapped around his waist as the other one fumbled with the door handle to the passengers' side before placing his brothers limp form within the low seat. Upon sitting down said body slumped forward slightly as he didn't have the energy to hold himself upright.

"How much did you drink?" Placing himself in the drivers' seat he cast a worried glance over at his brother before starting the engine, welcomed by the low hum of the car starting to life.

It was no less than a few moments before his question finally got a lagged response, strained and slurred; "I don't know, Sammy. Can't remember." Frowning slightly, Sam took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at Dean who just gazed out the front window, a sad expression plastered on his face. Dean was his idol, the one who growing up Sam had looked up to. Sure, he'd taken ordered from their Father, but he held more respect towards his older brother than his father. Dean was strong, always knew what to do no matter what the situation. Carefree, always able to bump Sam out of his depression when he felt self pity, or when memories of Jessica burned holes through his mind, Dean always seemed to know and was there in a quick stride to turn his mind off the track it was going, and busy it with research, or just a simple conversation. Hardly ever had he seen such a far away look in his brothers hazel green eyes though. So lost and pitiful. And Sam had no way to react.

The alcohol that he had digested throughout the night lowered his guards, the heavy steel gates which seemed to constantly be locked. The rest of the drive was silent, Deans eyes fixed to the darkness surrounding the Impala, while Sam continued to cast glances over to his brother, the frown still etched on his face.

Dragging his older brother into the motel room was a bit of a mission, and he was softly panting by the time he finally sat on the edge of his own bed. Dean just sat blankly in the middle of the bed closest to the door, which he had called his own earlier that day. Sam was unsure how to address the situation, Dean appeared to be in a far off place, obvious to anything and everying around him. The opposite to what the brothers had been brought up to.

A glass of water was placed gently into Dean's cupped hands, scaring the older as he blinked in a confused manor. "Drink up. It's just water. You're most likely dehydrated, thus concluding in a killer hangover." Nodding his thanks, Dean skulled back the refreshing liquid, right to the last drop. The glass claimed it's spot on the night stand as he sighed lightly, stretching back on the bed and closing his eyes lightly. His head continued to swim causing his body to feel like he was on a ship, while the rational part of his mind told him exactly where he was, and what was happening.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" He felt Sams eyes on him, boring holes through his skin, and he never liked to be squitinized, especially by a family member and one who is four years younger than he.

"You certainly drunk a lot." A question, or observation? Dean opted for the last and grunted lightly, a hand lightly brushing over his forehead. "You okay Dean?"

"Fine, Sammy."

Every time the question was asked, or even if Deans feelings came into conversation the older of the two had a skill of changing the topic or just blatantly answering with a tone that suggested that it was the end of that certain topic and he didn't want to talk about it any more. Sam knew he should just let Dean relax, sleep and deal with the conquenses in the morning, but the saddened look he had spied in the car, it worried the shoulder length, shaggy haired male. And Dean, being as out of it as he was, he was more open, and not exactly in his right mind to stick to his stubborn personality when bugging him about his feelings.

"You don't seem fine," Sam started, swallowing lightly as he saw a slight eye roll from beneath the hand, "If you were find you wouldn't of drunken so much." Blame it on the feelings, the fact it was after two in the morning or the conclusion that he had gotten rudely awoken just so he could drive to pick up his brain-dead brother when it was just as simple to catch a taxi. He had allowed Dean to go out (not that he had much say in the matter) but he didn't know it would end like this. All the times he had drunken himself stupid when he couldn't deal. Weather it be a mission gone bad, the emphay he felt from other people, or the ghost of Jessica still haunting him night and day, but he had a reason. So what exactly was Dean hiding?

"Look, Sammy. I'm fine, okay. Just drop it. I need sleep." His tone was laced with anger as he rolled over so his back was towards his brother. Multiple times he'd wanted to talk to Sam, but whenever the question was asked, or he even got an oppturinity to open up, his stubbornness perked up and didn't allow him to admit that anything was wrong.

"No Dean. Every time we try to talk you just turn away, exactly like what you're doing now. Why Dean? What secrets do you hide? Why do you hide yourself behind your smart- ass I-Don't-Give-A-Shit attitude?"

Hazel green eyes bore into Sams own as Dean was taken aback by the words exiting his younger brothers' mouth. "Drop it." Two simple words, but the eyes, they held so much emotion that Sam didn't know what to do. He wanted to keep pestering, try and get his brother to open up, but at the same time- he didn't want to cause Dean any more pain or remorse to what he appeared to be in.

Sam said nothing in response, just sighed and in a simple stride turned off the small lamp sitting on the night stand. The air was tense, both brothers had their backs turned towards each other. Both lay there awake. Sam- confused and somewhat depressed that his brother didn't seem to consol in him. He wanted some of the burden, if that's what it took to lessen Dean's pain.

Dean felt much of the same emotions as his brother, his eyes were downcast as he lay on top of his bed, clothes still on, but without energy, he felt no need to change. A simple lone tear bordered the line of his eye, but with a quick blink it vanished like it never existed.

_I Never Cry..._

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**Authors Note;**

I'd stick to this chapter as a trail. I'm requesting a Beta, or motivation to continue this story. I'll await and see what the response I get concerning this story, if it's positive, I'll update with the next chapter as soon as I can- otherwise I'll discontinue, and attempt something else.

Any Questions or Concerns please send me a message, or review.

Thankyou.


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